If I could just start with a little rant about, er, what are they called these days? One Railways, that's it. My call time on Friday was 7.00am in East London, so I booked a ticket on the first train to go from Ipswich - the 5.23am. Regular readers will be aware of my questioning of odd train times, but this is much weirder. And so very British. The 5.23am is not an empty train. I imagine the vast majority of people getting this train are regulars, and by the time we'd left Colchester there was standing room only. I only mention this to show that I was not the only one at the station at 5.15am wanting a cup of coffee. Guess what time the buffet on the station opens. Yup, 5.30am. Now, if a train leaves your station, every day, at 5.23am, would it not be worth opening half an hour earlier? It's just me, isn't it...
I arrive at 5 past 7, and 3rd AD Lucy takes me straight to wardrobe. The crew have set up base in the car park of a retail centre in East London, you know - Halfords, Aldi etc - and, compared with previous set-ups, this seems very calm. There are only three extras on this days shoot, and one of them, 'Boz' is already in the wardrobe vehicle. I'm given a peach coloured frilly shirt, bow tie, cuban heel boots and some very tight (well, at the top anyways) black trousers. Did I mention this shoot is for a TV show set in 1976? The trousers are so tight that breakfast doesn't seem to be an option, so Boz and I get coffee and wait to be called to make up. The third extra, Tom, shows up and joins us in the catering bus, and one by one we're called into the make-up truck. When it's my turn I get my hair curled and parted on the side. I had no idea how '70's' I could look. I get praise for the sideburns I had grown for the National Treasure shoot and kept, and while in make-up I meet one of the leads for this show, Patrick Baladi - the nice bloke out of 'The Office'. He's very chatty and offers the make-up ladies and I a cup of tea.
Once we have all been 1970'd, we wait for the call. Quite soon we're in a lovely big Merc being driven to the set, which is in a massive house just down the road. We're left outside while the crew re-set, and in no time we're ushered upstairs into a large dining room for rehearsal. We meet the leading lady, Tamsin, who is a stunningly beautiful, tall and willowy woman, and the director tells us what we have to do. As I am the first one in the room I get given the task of leading the waiters (for that is what we are) into the room, arranging food boxes on the table and taking the money from Tamsin. The director gets us to 'mince' into the room, and asks us to 'camp it up a bit'. It seems that all three of us are naturals in the mincing department.
A couple of rehearsals are followed with being lead down to the kitchen of this house, to wait for the crew to set up the lighting and all that gubbins. We chat with Tamsin and the make-up lady about long hair, wildebeests, Burma and Colin MacRae, before being called back to shoot the scene. We run through 5 or 6 times before the director is happy, and then the camera is re-set and we do the whole thing a few more times for cut aways.
We'd been on set for maybe an hour, and I was done. The other two were scheduled to be removal men later on in the day, but because I had been in shot I wasn't needed anymore. Back at base I change and the make-up lady sorts my hair out so I don't look too 1970s anymore. I see Patrick coming out of his trailer in full 70s gear and don't recognise him at first - thanks to the wig and Elvis sideburns he now sports - before he asks if I'm "all done" and "it's alright for some, eh!" According to the one of the crew, it had been a bit fraught earlier in the week, but in general they were on time and on budget. And it was such a change from the last two shoots I'd been on, where there were upwards of 300 extras on each.
I wander off towards the nearest tube station and wonder what to do next. My non-refundable non-changable set-in-stone return train ticket is for the 9.30pm. It's just gone 10.45am. Still, there's galleries to visit, guitar and book stores to browse in and there is that movie that my wife didn't want to go see...
Monday, October 01, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Holy Bad Timing 2 - this time, it's personable...
Having turned down the chance to do a day on the new Batman movie a couple of weeks ago, I thought I'd blown my chances, and then I got another call late last week. Could I make it to a fitting the next day, and three days filming next week? I checked my diary for the next day - like I didn't already know I was free - and confirmed I could make the fitting. Then I asked which three days the shoot was. You're ahead of me now, right? Of course, one of the days is when I've agreed to do this TV shoot, so I had to turn down three days on Batman.
I really hope the TV job doesn't get cancelled.
It's the first time I've had a scheduling conflict, and I feel bad about it. Of course, the agencies don't mind - I'm sure I'd been forgotten as soon as the phone went down and they moved on to the next of the 3500 people on their books - but I hate saying no to anything.
I really hope the TV job doesn't get cancelled.
It's the first time I've had a scheduling conflict, and I feel bad about it. Of course, the agencies don't mind - I'm sure I'd been forgotten as soon as the phone went down and they moved on to the next of the 3500 people on their books - but I hate saying no to anything.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Garcon?
Ages ago I had applied for an extras job which asked for men with longish hair (the hair! the hair!), and not heard anything back. Until yesterday. A new agency has booked me for a TV shoot next week set in the summer of 1976, and has cast me as a waiter. After doing the last three or four jobs surrounded by hundreds of other extras, this one will only involve three of us, and sounds like it will be a busy day. I'll let you know.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Holy Bad Timing...
Nothing doing on the extras front since poor old Abe got shot, apart from another period drama that I was penciled in for and never heard back. I'd kind of resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn't be doing any more before I went away (have I mentioned that yet? no? ah...*) And then today I got a call from the agency asking if I was available to do the new Batman movie. At Pinewood. Tomorrow.
For once I had to say no, because I had proper work to do, and I also have a gig with my covers band in the evening. But it still felt bad to say no.
*At the end of November, myself and my wife are going off travelling for four months. No trekking across treacherous mountains, or kayaking down South American rivers. Just driving around Australia and New Zealand, visiting friends and avoiding winter in the UK. No, don't feel bad for us, we'll be terribly homesick for wind, rain and snow - and we will miss all that festive business...shame!
For once I had to say no, because I had proper work to do, and I also have a gig with my covers band in the evening. But it still felt bad to say no.
*At the end of November, myself and my wife are going off travelling for four months. No trekking across treacherous mountains, or kayaking down South American rivers. Just driving around Australia and New Zealand, visiting friends and avoiding winter in the UK. No, don't feel bad for us, we'll be terribly homesick for wind, rain and snow - and we will miss all that festive business...shame!
There you are!
We went to see The Bourne Ultimatum, mainly because it had lots of good reviews and I'd loved the first two Bourne films, but also because I might see myself on the big screen. There's no need to be cagey about it, is there?
The big scene in Waterloo Station comes about 15 minutes into the film (don't worry if you've not seen it, no spoilers I promise!) and I reckon they used about 15 seconds of the stuff they shot over the two days I was on set. My wife reckons she saw my coat, but I missed it, having become so engrossed in the movie, I'd just about forgotten that I was in it.
It's an excellent film, and I urge you to go and see it. And watch out for a green coat, bottom left as Bourne runs away from the station...
The big scene in Waterloo Station comes about 15 minutes into the film (don't worry if you've not seen it, no spoilers I promise!) and I reckon they used about 15 seconds of the stuff they shot over the two days I was on set. My wife reckons she saw my coat, but I missed it, having become so engrossed in the movie, I'd just about forgotten that I was in it.
It's an excellent film, and I urge you to go and see it. And watch out for a green coat, bottom left as Bourne runs away from the station...
Saturday, August 11, 2007
There's little tricycles under there...
The agency calls and asks if I can get to Pinewood, on the other side of London, the day before filming to have a hair and make-up session, which will only take half an hour or so. I explain that this would involve a two hour drive each way, and although I don't want to be awkward could we not do the hair and make-up on the actual day, and I'd be quite happy to get there half an hour early. The agent says she's sure that'll be fine, and then tells me what time the call is for filming.
I need to be in Richmond, the other side of London, at 4.00am Friday. In the morning. She says there is a coach going from central London at 2.45am, and I tell her it's ok, I'll be driving. Then it occurs to me that I'm not going to get much sleep the night before, so I might as well get the last train into London, find somewhere to drink coffee and read my book for a couple of hours and take advantage of the coach. Then I wouldn't be driving back from Richmond, after little or no sleep and a full day's filming, on a Friday evening. It will also be cheaper than paying for the petrol. Sorted.
I have a bit of a nap on the Thursday afternoon, Mrs Wendell drops me off at the station (for a change) at 10.30pm and by midnight I'm walking through Soho towards Bar Italia. There's no danger of boredom here - it seems to be the busiest place on earth! After 20 minutes of standing I finally spot a stool by the wall and lunge for it. I daren't move for the next couple of hours in case I lose my comfy place, and I read, drink coffee and watch the people. It's mostly full of painfully trendy people - you know, carefully distressed jeans, tight shirts, nicely trimmed stubble and expensively messed-up hair. And that's just the women - boom, and indeed, boom. I'm pleased to be here, and wish that my hometown would be able to support a late night coffee house like this, but sadly the majority of my fellow hometowners are more interested in cheap lager and having a fight than drinking coffee and having a conversation. Rant over, back to the plot.
At 2.15 I wander down to Charring Cross to meet the coach, and get on the second one. Most people are quite sleepy, but my caffeine intake means that I can't nap during the 25 minute drive to Richmond, and I look out of the window as West London goes by. We get dropped off at the Adult Education Centre in the middle of town and join the queue for breakfast. At 3.30am.
I've just finished my scrambled eggs and more coffee when one of the ADs calls my name and I have to go and have my haircut. According to his list, I'm a priority because I couldn't make it the previous day. The hair department is upstairs, and after trying two others we find the right staircase. Johnny is my hairdresser, and we chat as he expertly clips away at the back of my head while referencing some notes in front of him - presumably written by the woman I met at the costume fitting 6 weeks previous. I joke about leaving a tip, and he tells me that normally he charges upwards of £100 for a haircut. But he isn't joking. I ask for a bit more off the back to get the production company's money's worth, and then head off to the costume department downstairs.
After getting changed (I'm sure the trousers are different to the ones I fitted in North London - these ones are much tighter round the waist...) it's upstairs again to make up, where Mandy colours my newly grown side-burns a bit darker, and makes my hands look grubby with a dark liquid that looks like fake tan. Turns out that it is. I look at Mandy's notes and read that I don't get to have a fake beard. Again! All around me the other extras are getting outrageous facial hair applied to their faces, but they are all part of the crowd in this theatre scene set in 1865, and I am a stagehand. Stagehands wouldn't have had fancy beards, disappointingly.
Once I'm done I go downstairs and sit down in one of the classrooms that for now are acting as holding areas for us extras. It's still only 5.30 in the morning. I chat with others, read a bit more and try not to sleep. With my contact lenses in, sleeping would be a very bad thing. There are a few guys appearing who seem to be dressed in similar gear to me, and we naturally gravitate towards each other. One of the crew comes in and explains that she will be taking us stagehands over to the set at about 9.00am - and apologizes for the early call. Still, we all get an allowance in our wages for that, so we settle down to chat. It appears that there are six stagehands for this shoot; myself, an actor who has been in 'We Will Rock You', a prog-rocker nurse, a student film maker, a second-hand book dealer, and an agriculturalist. We discuss our various day jobs, our outfits, and how difficult it is to wash your hands after visiting the toilet when you have make-up all over them.
When we finally get called, the six of us are joined by another guy who is to be the stage manager. The seven of us are shown into the building, where the crew have built an approximation of the Ford Theatre, Washington DC, 1865. We're here to recreate the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, which will be a flashback at the start of this movie, and, as these things often are in the movie world, this is the very last day of shooting. There are hundreds of people rushing around, all seemingly doing something, and the overall impression is one of a very well oiled machine. I recognise a few of the people from previous shoots, but there are an awful lot of American accents peppered about. The 1st Assistant Director comes over to say hello, and he reminds me of a much tidier and slightly slimmer Michael Moore. He tells us that we will need to be a little patient today, as they have a lot of re-sets (moving things around) and we'll be needed soon. We're moved over to the seats at the edge of the room.
An hour later, following a briefing from the fire officer and a visit from the costume designer, the rest of the 200+ extras begin filing into the theatre and sitting in the main block of seats. As this is happening, another AD takes all seven of us backstage and shows us where we will be standing and what we will be doing. Having been told that the set guys aren't ready for us yet, he takes us outside through the backstage door and a few of us take this chance to have a quick smoke.
When, 45 minutes later, he comes and gets us, everything has changed. We are all stood in different places and given different tasks, the actor playing the assassin is wandering around watching his stand-in go through his marks (where he stands at given times). These marks are important. The cameras are focused to these points, and if the actor isn't on his mark at the right time, he'll be out of focus.
My job is to be chatting with another stagehand, notice the assassin walk past, comment on it to my colleague and carry on chatting. We have a couple of rehearsals, the 1st AD comes over and says we are doing a great job, and they do four takes before we are sent back to sit down. We mainly talk about what we think we would be talking about if this was 1865. We agree that stagehands on 1865 would have been discussing what time lunch was due, who to go for in the Kentucky Derby and probably not about Big Brother.
For the next three hours we watch as they shoot more stuff with the huge crowd, and eventually find ourselves siting outside the theatre, smiling at the passers-by and wondering when we'll get some lunch - bearing in mind that we had breakfast at 3.30am, and it was now aproaching 12.30pm. At 1.30pm we are sent back to the base to have lunch, and we stagehands are sent off first. Just as we get to the lunch van a crew guy stops us and says that the 1stAD wants some of the crowd back quickly, so they must eat first. We wait. Eventually we get to eat (penne arabiatta with brocolli) and in no time are back at the theatre, wondering if they actually need us any more.
During the walk back up the road, we watch some of the ladies, whose costumes are fantastically detailed ball gowns, and make them look a little like those dolls your auntie used to have to put over those unsightly spare toilet rolls. We decide that it would be cool if each of the ladies had a little tricycle under their dress.
More crowd stuff is shot, as we swap between sitting outside in the sun and inside watching the filming. Lincoln gets shot at least 15 times during the afternoon, there's a cool stunt involving a bloke jumping down from the balcony, and the crew slots together like so many cogs. While we've been sitting around I've been chatting with the Agiculturalist, who, when I ask him how he got involved in doing this kind of thing, tells me that he is a transvestite, and along with a bunch of his fellow TVs, appeared in a british movie called Kinky Boots. I forget to ask him whether he tells the farmers that he visits.
Eventually, the crowd are sent off. I find out it's 6.15pm, and our AD comes over and asks us stagehands to stay. He comes back ten minutes later and gets the stage manager, taking him backstage and we hear "rolling" "background" "action" and "cut" a few times before they return. He takes me and two others back and we are positioned and given our actions. The assassin is wandering around the labyrinth of corridors backstage, and we do 5 or 6 takes with different camera positions. Then we are released, with the 1st AD anouncing "That's a wrap, everyone!". It's 7.15pm.
We race back and change into civvies. Getting my lenses out is a blessed relief, and three of us head off to the train station for the 30 minute ride back into London, and by the time the train gets to Waterloo I am on my own again. I race to get the tube back to Liverpool Street, and get on the 8.30, but I miss it by 3 minutes, and must wait for an hour before the next train. I buy a large Vanilla Latte and, for the umpteenth time today, head out of the station for a smoke and a wait.
I need to be in Richmond, the other side of London, at 4.00am Friday. In the morning. She says there is a coach going from central London at 2.45am, and I tell her it's ok, I'll be driving. Then it occurs to me that I'm not going to get much sleep the night before, so I might as well get the last train into London, find somewhere to drink coffee and read my book for a couple of hours and take advantage of the coach. Then I wouldn't be driving back from Richmond, after little or no sleep and a full day's filming, on a Friday evening. It will also be cheaper than paying for the petrol. Sorted.
I have a bit of a nap on the Thursday afternoon, Mrs Wendell drops me off at the station (for a change) at 10.30pm and by midnight I'm walking through Soho towards Bar Italia. There's no danger of boredom here - it seems to be the busiest place on earth! After 20 minutes of standing I finally spot a stool by the wall and lunge for it. I daren't move for the next couple of hours in case I lose my comfy place, and I read, drink coffee and watch the people. It's mostly full of painfully trendy people - you know, carefully distressed jeans, tight shirts, nicely trimmed stubble and expensively messed-up hair. And that's just the women - boom, and indeed, boom. I'm pleased to be here, and wish that my hometown would be able to support a late night coffee house like this, but sadly the majority of my fellow hometowners are more interested in cheap lager and having a fight than drinking coffee and having a conversation. Rant over, back to the plot.
At 2.15 I wander down to Charring Cross to meet the coach, and get on the second one. Most people are quite sleepy, but my caffeine intake means that I can't nap during the 25 minute drive to Richmond, and I look out of the window as West London goes by. We get dropped off at the Adult Education Centre in the middle of town and join the queue for breakfast. At 3.30am.
I've just finished my scrambled eggs and more coffee when one of the ADs calls my name and I have to go and have my haircut. According to his list, I'm a priority because I couldn't make it the previous day. The hair department is upstairs, and after trying two others we find the right staircase. Johnny is my hairdresser, and we chat as he expertly clips away at the back of my head while referencing some notes in front of him - presumably written by the woman I met at the costume fitting 6 weeks previous. I joke about leaving a tip, and he tells me that normally he charges upwards of £100 for a haircut. But he isn't joking. I ask for a bit more off the back to get the production company's money's worth, and then head off to the costume department downstairs.
After getting changed (I'm sure the trousers are different to the ones I fitted in North London - these ones are much tighter round the waist...) it's upstairs again to make up, where Mandy colours my newly grown side-burns a bit darker, and makes my hands look grubby with a dark liquid that looks like fake tan. Turns out that it is. I look at Mandy's notes and read that I don't get to have a fake beard. Again! All around me the other extras are getting outrageous facial hair applied to their faces, but they are all part of the crowd in this theatre scene set in 1865, and I am a stagehand. Stagehands wouldn't have had fancy beards, disappointingly.
Once I'm done I go downstairs and sit down in one of the classrooms that for now are acting as holding areas for us extras. It's still only 5.30 in the morning. I chat with others, read a bit more and try not to sleep. With my contact lenses in, sleeping would be a very bad thing. There are a few guys appearing who seem to be dressed in similar gear to me, and we naturally gravitate towards each other. One of the crew comes in and explains that she will be taking us stagehands over to the set at about 9.00am - and apologizes for the early call. Still, we all get an allowance in our wages for that, so we settle down to chat. It appears that there are six stagehands for this shoot; myself, an actor who has been in 'We Will Rock You', a prog-rocker nurse, a student film maker, a second-hand book dealer, and an agriculturalist. We discuss our various day jobs, our outfits, and how difficult it is to wash your hands after visiting the toilet when you have make-up all over them.
When we finally get called, the six of us are joined by another guy who is to be the stage manager. The seven of us are shown into the building, where the crew have built an approximation of the Ford Theatre, Washington DC, 1865. We're here to recreate the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, which will be a flashback at the start of this movie, and, as these things often are in the movie world, this is the very last day of shooting. There are hundreds of people rushing around, all seemingly doing something, and the overall impression is one of a very well oiled machine. I recognise a few of the people from previous shoots, but there are an awful lot of American accents peppered about. The 1st Assistant Director comes over to say hello, and he reminds me of a much tidier and slightly slimmer Michael Moore. He tells us that we will need to be a little patient today, as they have a lot of re-sets (moving things around) and we'll be needed soon. We're moved over to the seats at the edge of the room.
An hour later, following a briefing from the fire officer and a visit from the costume designer, the rest of the 200+ extras begin filing into the theatre and sitting in the main block of seats. As this is happening, another AD takes all seven of us backstage and shows us where we will be standing and what we will be doing. Having been told that the set guys aren't ready for us yet, he takes us outside through the backstage door and a few of us take this chance to have a quick smoke.
When, 45 minutes later, he comes and gets us, everything has changed. We are all stood in different places and given different tasks, the actor playing the assassin is wandering around watching his stand-in go through his marks (where he stands at given times). These marks are important. The cameras are focused to these points, and if the actor isn't on his mark at the right time, he'll be out of focus.
My job is to be chatting with another stagehand, notice the assassin walk past, comment on it to my colleague and carry on chatting. We have a couple of rehearsals, the 1st AD comes over and says we are doing a great job, and they do four takes before we are sent back to sit down. We mainly talk about what we think we would be talking about if this was 1865. We agree that stagehands on 1865 would have been discussing what time lunch was due, who to go for in the Kentucky Derby and probably not about Big Brother.
For the next three hours we watch as they shoot more stuff with the huge crowd, and eventually find ourselves siting outside the theatre, smiling at the passers-by and wondering when we'll get some lunch - bearing in mind that we had breakfast at 3.30am, and it was now aproaching 12.30pm. At 1.30pm we are sent back to the base to have lunch, and we stagehands are sent off first. Just as we get to the lunch van a crew guy stops us and says that the 1stAD wants some of the crowd back quickly, so they must eat first. We wait. Eventually we get to eat (penne arabiatta with brocolli) and in no time are back at the theatre, wondering if they actually need us any more.
During the walk back up the road, we watch some of the ladies, whose costumes are fantastically detailed ball gowns, and make them look a little like those dolls your auntie used to have to put over those unsightly spare toilet rolls. We decide that it would be cool if each of the ladies had a little tricycle under their dress.
More crowd stuff is shot, as we swap between sitting outside in the sun and inside watching the filming. Lincoln gets shot at least 15 times during the afternoon, there's a cool stunt involving a bloke jumping down from the balcony, and the crew slots together like so many cogs. While we've been sitting around I've been chatting with the Agiculturalist, who, when I ask him how he got involved in doing this kind of thing, tells me that he is a transvestite, and along with a bunch of his fellow TVs, appeared in a british movie called Kinky Boots. I forget to ask him whether he tells the farmers that he visits.
Eventually, the crowd are sent off. I find out it's 6.15pm, and our AD comes over and asks us stagehands to stay. He comes back ten minutes later and gets the stage manager, taking him backstage and we hear "rolling" "background" "action" and "cut" a few times before they return. He takes me and two others back and we are positioned and given our actions. The assassin is wandering around the labyrinth of corridors backstage, and we do 5 or 6 takes with different camera positions. Then we are released, with the 1st AD anouncing "That's a wrap, everyone!". It's 7.15pm.
We race back and change into civvies. Getting my lenses out is a blessed relief, and three of us head off to the train station for the 30 minute ride back into London, and by the time the train gets to Waterloo I am on my own again. I race to get the tube back to Liverpool Street, and get on the 8.30, but I miss it by 3 minutes, and must wait for an hour before the next train. I buy a large Vanilla Latte and, for the umpteenth time today, head out of the station for a smoke and a wait.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
A beard? In four weeks? Are you crazy?
Being an extra, as I think I've mentioned before, means having patience, having the ability to follow simple directions and being able to be on time. Those that know me will be able to confirm that these are not traits that lend themselves to me easily.
Patience is a virtue, apparently, and one that I struggle with from time to time. In the case of being on set, patience is needed because most of your time is spent sitting around reading or chatting. That kind of patience I can do. Very well. It's the other kind I struggle with; the stupidity of others, other people being stupid, that sort of thing.
The simple directions problem is not that I struggle to understand them. I just don't like being told what to do. If I'm thinking I might fancy, say, some pasta for tea, and just as I'm about to start someone says "why don't you have some pasta for tea?" my natural reaction would be to have some rice. I'm not saying it's a good thing, or that it's something I wouldn't change if I could, but I it is true.
Now, bad timekeeping. Mostly I get away with it, which is lucky. It's not that I'm purposely being rude, and these days I do make a supreme effort to be on time - especially if it involves some other people and an immovable event (such as a football match or picking up my wife from the station), but my inherent laziness still plays havoc with my time keeping.
And so it proved a couple of weeks ago when I got the standard call from the agency ("Have you had a haircut?" "No" "Great, can you...") and had a costume fitting booked later that week in that London.
Having managed to book cheap train tickets the day before, I knew I had to be at the station for the 10.30am train. I'd already dropped Mrs Wendell at the station at 7.00am that morning, and returned home to do a bit of work. However, what I actually did was sit down with my breakfast in front of the BBC news and fall asleep. I woke at 10.00am, wasted a few seconds wondering where I was and then reality hit. As I showered, dressed and panicked, all seemingly at the same time, I was also muttering about having to spend another £30 quid to buy tickets, as the cheap ones are, of course, non-refundable. It's a good 25 minute walk to the station, and with the time at 10.15, it wasn't looking good. So, instead of running and getting all hot and testy, I walked, reasoning that as I just wasn't going to get the 10.30, there was no need to rush. As I sauntered into the station at 10.38, I looked up at the screen to see the word 'delayed' next to each and every train, and upon reaching the platform, stepped onto the waiting 10.30 - which promptly pulled away about 30 seconds later.
Of course, the fact that the train is leaving late means that it will arrive late. It cuts my time the other end, and I need to find the appointed building in North London by 12.30. I emerge from the tube station onto the Hollaway Road, establish which direction I need to be walking (by, of course, walking the wrong way initially) and having found the building I walk through the door at 12.25.
The lady behind the reception looks up and says "Ah, you must be Stephen. Just go through and see Lee." As an extra you get used to people not knowing your name, which is totally understandable when there are 300 extras on one set, so when someone knows who you are, it's quite nice. I'm ushered through to a dressing room and two guys are there handing me various bits of clothing to try on. Two ladies come through to check the costume. A discussion ensues about whether the corduroy jacket is in keeping with the period, and after a few different jackets are tried the lady with the American accent declares that she is happy and I'm led through to another room to have pictures taken. While this is happening, another person has a good look at my hair, and says it might need to be trimmed a little bit at the back - is that alright? - and can I grow a beard in four weeks? I tell her I haven't managed to grow a beard in 40 years, and she laughs. She takes a cutting of my hair so they can make my beard to match, telling me that I have 10% gray...
After about 45 minutes Lee tells me I'm all done and I can go and get changed. Yet another person gathers together the costumes bits and hangs them all on a couple of hangers, pinning them with a label which has my name written on it. He puts them on a hanger across the room, next to other costumes with similar labels, some of which have names I recognise.
Having signed and countersigned some forms which tell the agency how much to pay me, I'm outside, following a cheery goodbye from the lady at reception, and walking (the wrong way initially) back to the tube station. Just as I get to the station, my phone rings and it's the agency, telling me that there is now an additional day's shooting on this job, four days after the one I already know about. I tell them that's fine, and head down into the tube station and towards my usual destination when I'm at a loose end in London, The Tate Modern.
When I get home, I decide to google the name of the American Lady who seemed to make the final decisions at my fitting. I remember her name because it is unusual, the kind of name that means she either grew up in a commune, or at least wished she had. When her name comes up on the international movie database, I find out that she has three oscars for costume design.
Three days later the initial day's shoot is cancelled, and a different date is added. I decide not to worry about booking tickets just yet...
Patience is a virtue, apparently, and one that I struggle with from time to time. In the case of being on set, patience is needed because most of your time is spent sitting around reading or chatting. That kind of patience I can do. Very well. It's the other kind I struggle with; the stupidity of others, other people being stupid, that sort of thing.
The simple directions problem is not that I struggle to understand them. I just don't like being told what to do. If I'm thinking I might fancy, say, some pasta for tea, and just as I'm about to start someone says "why don't you have some pasta for tea?" my natural reaction would be to have some rice. I'm not saying it's a good thing, or that it's something I wouldn't change if I could, but I it is true.
Now, bad timekeeping. Mostly I get away with it, which is lucky. It's not that I'm purposely being rude, and these days I do make a supreme effort to be on time - especially if it involves some other people and an immovable event (such as a football match or picking up my wife from the station), but my inherent laziness still plays havoc with my time keeping.
And so it proved a couple of weeks ago when I got the standard call from the agency ("Have you had a haircut?" "No" "Great, can you...") and had a costume fitting booked later that week in that London.
Having managed to book cheap train tickets the day before, I knew I had to be at the station for the 10.30am train. I'd already dropped Mrs Wendell at the station at 7.00am that morning, and returned home to do a bit of work. However, what I actually did was sit down with my breakfast in front of the BBC news and fall asleep. I woke at 10.00am, wasted a few seconds wondering where I was and then reality hit. As I showered, dressed and panicked, all seemingly at the same time, I was also muttering about having to spend another £30 quid to buy tickets, as the cheap ones are, of course, non-refundable. It's a good 25 minute walk to the station, and with the time at 10.15, it wasn't looking good. So, instead of running and getting all hot and testy, I walked, reasoning that as I just wasn't going to get the 10.30, there was no need to rush. As I sauntered into the station at 10.38, I looked up at the screen to see the word 'delayed' next to each and every train, and upon reaching the platform, stepped onto the waiting 10.30 - which promptly pulled away about 30 seconds later.
Of course, the fact that the train is leaving late means that it will arrive late. It cuts my time the other end, and I need to find the appointed building in North London by 12.30. I emerge from the tube station onto the Hollaway Road, establish which direction I need to be walking (by, of course, walking the wrong way initially) and having found the building I walk through the door at 12.25.
The lady behind the reception looks up and says "Ah, you must be Stephen. Just go through and see Lee." As an extra you get used to people not knowing your name, which is totally understandable when there are 300 extras on one set, so when someone knows who you are, it's quite nice. I'm ushered through to a dressing room and two guys are there handing me various bits of clothing to try on. Two ladies come through to check the costume. A discussion ensues about whether the corduroy jacket is in keeping with the period, and after a few different jackets are tried the lady with the American accent declares that she is happy and I'm led through to another room to have pictures taken. While this is happening, another person has a good look at my hair, and says it might need to be trimmed a little bit at the back - is that alright? - and can I grow a beard in four weeks? I tell her I haven't managed to grow a beard in 40 years, and she laughs. She takes a cutting of my hair so they can make my beard to match, telling me that I have 10% gray...
After about 45 minutes Lee tells me I'm all done and I can go and get changed. Yet another person gathers together the costumes bits and hangs them all on a couple of hangers, pinning them with a label which has my name written on it. He puts them on a hanger across the room, next to other costumes with similar labels, some of which have names I recognise.
Having signed and countersigned some forms which tell the agency how much to pay me, I'm outside, following a cheery goodbye from the lady at reception, and walking (the wrong way initially) back to the tube station. Just as I get to the station, my phone rings and it's the agency, telling me that there is now an additional day's shooting on this job, four days after the one I already know about. I tell them that's fine, and head down into the tube station and towards my usual destination when I'm at a loose end in London, The Tate Modern.
When I get home, I decide to google the name of the American Lady who seemed to make the final decisions at my fitting. I remember her name because it is unusual, the kind of name that means she either grew up in a commune, or at least wished she had. When her name comes up on the international movie database, I find out that she has three oscars for costume design.
Three days later the initial day's shoot is cancelled, and a different date is added. I decide not to worry about booking tickets just yet...
Thursday, April 19, 2007
He looks more like him than he does himself...
It wasn't a call this time. The email came in at about 3.00pm on Monday, and it said to be on set, at Waterloo Station in London, for 8.30am on Tuesday morning. I had to go and pick up my wife at the train station, so figured I'd get my tickets then. The man at the counter asked if he could help me, and I wish I'd said (you know, in that jocular fashion) "Well, we'll find out soon, won't we!" because it would have been fun trying to make him laugh, Or smile. Or breathe. Anything, really. Having explained where I needed to be the next morning, at what time, and what time I expected to come back, he told me I needed an open ticket, costing £51. I asked him if there was a cheaper alternative, as that seemed a little steep. After another five minutes of too-ing and fro-ing, then, and only then, did he offer two single tickets, one at £18, and one at £11. The answer to his first question was becoming painfully clear. Why didn't he tell me that in the first place? I assume a number of people just buy the first thing proffered without asking for other options. My advice? Haggle. Shamelessly. And then apologise for having to use a cheque because you messed up your new pin number for your new card for your new bank account.
The drawback of this haggling was that the cheaper single ticket for the morning left the station at 5.53. In the morning. (Why do trains, and buses come to that, leave at such odd times? why not 5.50, or 5.55?) which meant that I had to get up at 5.00. It also meant that I got to Waterloo at 7.20, an hour and ten minutes before the call. Which at least gave me some time to buy a coffee before heading to the bar which was doubling as an office for the production crew.
At this point I hadn't really planned on being available for the second day. The cost of tickets, the fact that I had some proper work to do and the lack of somewhere to stay for the night all pointed to this conclusion, but I decided to keep that to myself for a while when I turned the corner and saw the number of people gathering outside the bar. The first person I saw was Chris. Chris had been on my first ever shoot nearly a year ago, where we had chatted amiably, I'd sent him some pictures we had taken of us in our victorian costumes, and we hadn't been in touch since.
Having signed in, we started catching up. One of the things you need to be good at when doing this type of work is chatting. Either that or bring a couple of books with you, because you'll be sitting around a lot. This shoot in particular turned into a marathon sitting around session. There were about 350 extras on the first day, and half of us were moved to a 'holding area' - one of the bars on the main concourse at Waterloo. Unfortunately the bar itself was closed, but Waterloo has a wide selection of beverages available, so everybody arrived with coffees, teas, smoothies and water, took a seat and waited. Chris and I were one of the first into the bar (natch!) and secured a comfy sofa. books were fetched from bags, drinks were drunk, and we waited. And waited. And waited. We arrived at the 'holding area' at about 9.30am, and at 2.00pm, having read a few hundred pages and chatted ourselves nearly to death, an Assistant Director (AD - normally there are three or four ADs on a shoot - thier job is to interpret what the Director wants from the extras and get them/us o do it) came in and started weeding people out.
Apparently, a film crew cannot close down a major international railway station, even in the middle of the week, and so as we were positioned around the concourse and given our direction (mostly "just look up at the screens"), we mingled with the general public. Every so often one of the crew would shout out for us to raise our hands. That must have looked odd. When I'd arrived that morning, one of the ADs had recognized me from a previous shoot, and said hello. He came over to where I was standing and asked me and John, the guy standing next to me, to go further up the station and, on his signal, start walking up the concourse. Then he said "Matt will run out of that door, snake through the crowd, and push in between you guys. Just react like it's someone who is running for a train. OK?"
We waited another half an hour before the crew were ready to shoot, getting quite hot in our winter gear (the scenes are set in winter) and finally the familiar cry of "camera's rolling!" rang across Waterloo. Sure enough, Matt Damon ran out of the door, snaked through the crowd, and pushed past by colleague and I. We did this six or seven times, with Matt asking if we were ok each time we walked back to re-set, before the Director came over and spoke to the AD. The AD came over and tells us that they are going to re-set again, but with some different people. Shorter people. We didn't look right. Damn!
The rest of the afternoon is taken up with lots of standing, lot's of looking at screens, and some walking from A to B, and then back to A. The crew have to clear the concourse by 4.00pm, to allow for rush hour, so all the extras are told that's a wrap. During the walk back to the crew's HQ, I catch up with Chris, who has been standing elsewhere on the station all day, and he asks if I'm going to be back the next day. I explain that the train tickets are expensive, and that I have proper work to do so will probably head home that night. "I said you could stay at mine if you ever needed to - don't you remember?" I'd assumed it was one of those polite things that us english people say to each other, but he'd clearly meant it. As I was deciding what to do, the AD walks over and asks if we'll stay late for a shoot at a different location. I decide to stay after all, and we say yes.
The holding area for the second location is also a pub. This time, the bar is open. After waiting for half an hour, Chris suggests a drink. I suggest a half, and so we do. after another hour, we have another one. Then another. Thankfully, an AD comes over to tell us they won't be needing us, and we can go. So we have another, and head for the bus stop. I reckon we've done two hours of actual being on set work today, and it's about 8.00pm.
Chris lives in Stoke Newington, and we call at the off-licence on the way to his house. His wife and thier lodger are both in, watching football, so we join them and enjoy a pleasant evening. Knowing that I like my music, Chris shows me a selection of vinyl LPs a friend of thiers gave him. I'm astounded. There are white label Elton John LPs, American Mono Beatle LPs, The Stones Satanic Majesties with the gatefold 3D sleeve amongst many others. Before retiring to sleep we listen to a Todd Rundgren LP, chosen at random, and we agree to be up and out to the local caff for breakfast by 8 the next morning, as our call is for 9.30am.
The second day of shooting starts, following scrambled eggs at the caff of course, with an hour and ten minutes bus journey from Stoke Newington to Waterloo. Exactly the same time it takes on the train from Ipswich to London. Hmmmm. But the bus is a lot cheaper...
Today we're hard at work on the set (or Waterloo Station Concourse) by 12.30, which means we only had three hours to read and chat. I'm again stood next to John, but this time the crew are shooting close ups, so we are employed to walk across the background of the shot, creating that bleary look we all know and love. Today there is a stand in for Matt Damon, and I overhear a lady behind me exclaim "He looks more like him than he does himself..." This keeps us amused for ages.
We break for lunch - a cream cheese bagel - and back on set we are doing the final scenes which are lots of general hub bub shots of the station. I'm paired off with Micky, a girl from Taiwan whose English is a little ropey, and we have a faltering, but entertaining conversation while strolling around the station with the other 300 or so extras. As we approach my friendly AD, he tells us to go and stand right infront of the camera, look up at the screen, count to ten and then walk off to the left towards our chosen platform. As we walk past the camera, the director calls "Cut. It's a wrap!" and all of a sudden the station looks empty as 300 people all head off to get forms signed and head home. As I'm queueing, the agency calls and asks if I'm free to do some filming on Friday, in another period drama. I, of course, say yes.
Having thanked Chris for his hospitality, I head off across the river to met an old friend who's visiting from Australia, via LA, and eventually home. As I change my ticket at the booth in Liverpool Street, the guy behind the counter points out that my cheque book has '19__' in the date (yes, it's an old cheque book!) and my new card isn't a cheque guarantee card. I plead a little bit, explaining that I haven't got my pin number yet, so I can't use the card, I can't get any cash because, well, I don't have my pin number, and I do have my driving licence, and he says OK.
As the train pulls into Ipswich, It feels like two days has stretched into a week, and I'm glad to get home. Where I get a message telling me that the shoot on Friday is cancelled.
The drawback of this haggling was that the cheaper single ticket for the morning left the station at 5.53. In the morning. (Why do trains, and buses come to that, leave at such odd times? why not 5.50, or 5.55?) which meant that I had to get up at 5.00. It also meant that I got to Waterloo at 7.20, an hour and ten minutes before the call. Which at least gave me some time to buy a coffee before heading to the bar which was doubling as an office for the production crew.
At this point I hadn't really planned on being available for the second day. The cost of tickets, the fact that I had some proper work to do and the lack of somewhere to stay for the night all pointed to this conclusion, but I decided to keep that to myself for a while when I turned the corner and saw the number of people gathering outside the bar. The first person I saw was Chris. Chris had been on my first ever shoot nearly a year ago, where we had chatted amiably, I'd sent him some pictures we had taken of us in our victorian costumes, and we hadn't been in touch since.
Having signed in, we started catching up. One of the things you need to be good at when doing this type of work is chatting. Either that or bring a couple of books with you, because you'll be sitting around a lot. This shoot in particular turned into a marathon sitting around session. There were about 350 extras on the first day, and half of us were moved to a 'holding area' - one of the bars on the main concourse at Waterloo. Unfortunately the bar itself was closed, but Waterloo has a wide selection of beverages available, so everybody arrived with coffees, teas, smoothies and water, took a seat and waited. Chris and I were one of the first into the bar (natch!) and secured a comfy sofa. books were fetched from bags, drinks were drunk, and we waited. And waited. And waited. We arrived at the 'holding area' at about 9.30am, and at 2.00pm, having read a few hundred pages and chatted ourselves nearly to death, an Assistant Director (AD - normally there are three or four ADs on a shoot - thier job is to interpret what the Director wants from the extras and get them/us o do it) came in and started weeding people out.
Apparently, a film crew cannot close down a major international railway station, even in the middle of the week, and so as we were positioned around the concourse and given our direction (mostly "just look up at the screens"), we mingled with the general public. Every so often one of the crew would shout out for us to raise our hands. That must have looked odd. When I'd arrived that morning, one of the ADs had recognized me from a previous shoot, and said hello. He came over to where I was standing and asked me and John, the guy standing next to me, to go further up the station and, on his signal, start walking up the concourse. Then he said "Matt will run out of that door, snake through the crowd, and push in between you guys. Just react like it's someone who is running for a train. OK?"
We waited another half an hour before the crew were ready to shoot, getting quite hot in our winter gear (the scenes are set in winter) and finally the familiar cry of "camera's rolling!" rang across Waterloo. Sure enough, Matt Damon ran out of the door, snaked through the crowd, and pushed past by colleague and I. We did this six or seven times, with Matt asking if we were ok each time we walked back to re-set, before the Director came over and spoke to the AD. The AD came over and tells us that they are going to re-set again, but with some different people. Shorter people. We didn't look right. Damn!
The rest of the afternoon is taken up with lots of standing, lot's of looking at screens, and some walking from A to B, and then back to A. The crew have to clear the concourse by 4.00pm, to allow for rush hour, so all the extras are told that's a wrap. During the walk back to the crew's HQ, I catch up with Chris, who has been standing elsewhere on the station all day, and he asks if I'm going to be back the next day. I explain that the train tickets are expensive, and that I have proper work to do so will probably head home that night. "I said you could stay at mine if you ever needed to - don't you remember?" I'd assumed it was one of those polite things that us english people say to each other, but he'd clearly meant it. As I was deciding what to do, the AD walks over and asks if we'll stay late for a shoot at a different location. I decide to stay after all, and we say yes.
The holding area for the second location is also a pub. This time, the bar is open. After waiting for half an hour, Chris suggests a drink. I suggest a half, and so we do. after another hour, we have another one. Then another. Thankfully, an AD comes over to tell us they won't be needing us, and we can go. So we have another, and head for the bus stop. I reckon we've done two hours of actual being on set work today, and it's about 8.00pm.
Chris lives in Stoke Newington, and we call at the off-licence on the way to his house. His wife and thier lodger are both in, watching football, so we join them and enjoy a pleasant evening. Knowing that I like my music, Chris shows me a selection of vinyl LPs a friend of thiers gave him. I'm astounded. There are white label Elton John LPs, American Mono Beatle LPs, The Stones Satanic Majesties with the gatefold 3D sleeve amongst many others. Before retiring to sleep we listen to a Todd Rundgren LP, chosen at random, and we agree to be up and out to the local caff for breakfast by 8 the next morning, as our call is for 9.30am.
The second day of shooting starts, following scrambled eggs at the caff of course, with an hour and ten minutes bus journey from Stoke Newington to Waterloo. Exactly the same time it takes on the train from Ipswich to London. Hmmmm. But the bus is a lot cheaper...
Today we're hard at work on the set (or Waterloo Station Concourse) by 12.30, which means we only had three hours to read and chat. I'm again stood next to John, but this time the crew are shooting close ups, so we are employed to walk across the background of the shot, creating that bleary look we all know and love. Today there is a stand in for Matt Damon, and I overhear a lady behind me exclaim "He looks more like him than he does himself..." This keeps us amused for ages.
We break for lunch - a cream cheese bagel - and back on set we are doing the final scenes which are lots of general hub bub shots of the station. I'm paired off with Micky, a girl from Taiwan whose English is a little ropey, and we have a faltering, but entertaining conversation while strolling around the station with the other 300 or so extras. As we approach my friendly AD, he tells us to go and stand right infront of the camera, look up at the screen, count to ten and then walk off to the left towards our chosen platform. As we walk past the camera, the director calls "Cut. It's a wrap!" and all of a sudden the station looks empty as 300 people all head off to get forms signed and head home. As I'm queueing, the agency calls and asks if I'm free to do some filming on Friday, in another period drama. I, of course, say yes.
Having thanked Chris for his hospitality, I head off across the river to met an old friend who's visiting from Australia, via LA, and eventually home. As I change my ticket at the booth in Liverpool Street, the guy behind the counter points out that my cheque book has '19__' in the date (yes, it's an old cheque book!) and my new card isn't a cheque guarantee card. I plead a little bit, explaining that I haven't got my pin number yet, so I can't use the card, I can't get any cash because, well, I don't have my pin number, and I do have my driving licence, and he says OK.
As the train pulls into Ipswich, It feels like two days has stretched into a week, and I'm glad to get home. Where I get a message telling me that the shoot on Friday is cancelled.
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